Judgement Day

Earlier this week, Evil Twin faced the consequences of his crimes. It's been a day I've been anticipating for 18 months. A day where he would be made to "pay" for what he did. When the judgement came down, I realized I didn't feel any of the emotions I thought I would feel. Not Anger. Not Jubilation. Instead I experienced an emotion that took me by surprise...Closure. Funny how sometimes closure makes you feel Sadness right along with it. I am sad at the destruction one man can wreak through plain and simple bad decisions. I realized that one's actions can affect hundreds of lives. I feel sad for his ex-wife and her children. I feel sad for his victims, for their losses both monitarily and in some cases spiritually. I feel sad that some of them are having a hard time healing. But surprisingly, I also feel very sad for him. I now understand that he is neither good nor evil...simply human. And often, human beings make disasterous mistakes.
While the sadness remains, the hatred has "magically" evaporated. It is a HUGE step towards further healing and it feels so good!
I don't know what comes next as far as he is concerned. That's the nice thing about not being able to see too far into the future...if I were to know, I probably would refuse to move forward. Moving forward can be scary but that's what it's all about.

Back To Square One

I hate square one. Square one feels like failure. In any good board game, square one means that somewhere along the line you messed up.
This morning, that's where I found myself. Defeated. How did I get here?
Last summer I could walk 4 miles in an hour. I felt strong, powerful...amazing.
This morning, I was grateful when, after only 15 minutes of easy aerobics, Mini-Me needed help with her hair. Sweating like a hog and breathing like a bulldog, I helped her with her coif and returned to the workout. It went pretty much like this until it was time to leave for school. It took me and hour and 45 minutes to complete the entire 60 minutes of the tape. Pathetic.
I get that if I want to feel strong and powerful and amazing, I have to start somewhere. I get it. It just makes me mad that I let it go in the first place.
Square one...
What a shitty place to be.

Here Kitty Kitty Kitty!

Are you a cat-hater or a dog-preferrer? Believe it or not, there is a difference.

I'm a cat-lover...no surprise there. That doesn't mean I hate dogs...it simply means that I desire different qualities in a pet. I like cats because they aren't needy in any way, shape or form. They don't have to be on you all the time. They don't care if they please you. I could leave for days on end and as long as the food and water held out, they wouldn't miss me a bit. I can appreciate that.

I believe that people who flat out hate cats have something to hide...and they are scared that the cats are on to them. Bad people don't like to be around intuitive people, for fear of being found out. Cats are amazing judges of character. Dogs love everyone...even people who abuse them. Cats are far more selective.

This theory has panned out for me on more than one occasion.

"Good Twin/Evil Twin" was a cat-hater.

We should have listened to the cats.

Laundry Day

I believe that everyone is broken in some way. We walk around with open wounds that haven't fully healed. I believe that most people hide from the pain...we put on our happiest faces and pretend the pain doesn't exist.


A few posts ago I said that I suck at suffering. It's true. I refuse to suffer if I don't have to. I also said that talking helps.


I'm so sick of being at odds with my emotions, so I guess it's time to talk.


As I write this, I have unresolved feelings about a certain person in my life. Over a year ago, my family was betrayed by a man whom we had known and loved like a brother for 20+ years. A large sum of money was stolen. But if you believe my wounds are because of money, I have some beach front property in Arizona to sell you! It's not about the money...never has been. Money means nothing to me. When you have it life is easy...when you don't life is harder, that's pretty much how money figures into my grand scheme of life.


I wish he had only stolen money. What he stole from me is much harder to earn, much harder to replace. He stole my trust.

From the moment he entered my life at 15, I based many of my opinions on his counsel. Kudos from him made me feel like a million bucks. When he took the time to check in with me I felt so important. He was a respected and almost revered part of my family. I was proud to know him.

I don't know the man he became...he is a complete stranger. It's almost as if two very distinct and separate personalities inhabit the same body...good twin and evil twin.


I have been taught to never judge anyone, that's God's job. I have been taught to forgive those who wrong me...always. I firmly believe in those teachings, and I am trying.


I can't judge him for his bad decisions...I've made several of those myself. I don't know what was going on in his mind at the time...I probably never will.


Forgiveness for the lies...that's gonna take some time. I'm not a hundered percent positive I can fully forgive...but like I said, I'm trying. I hope that if I keep at it, I will eventually work it out.


So, we've established that my dilemma doesn't stem from the loss of money, money comes and goes. It doesn't even stem from the uncertainty of whether I can forgive or not.

For months, I refused to see him or talk to him or even talk about him...but now, I miss him...I mean, the person he used to be. That's my dilemma.


I don't know if he is still the criminal or if he has changed back into the kind, honest man I once knew. I believe that the "good twin" is still there somewhere. I believe that the "good twin" feels remorse and sadness. Do I reach out to him? Do I befriend him again? Sometimes I feel like the "good twin" needs a friend.

I turn the questions over and over...what to do...what to do? There seems to be no concrete answer. I really hate that.

No one ever said that getting your laundry clean was easy...but I am trying.

It's a fact...there is only one time every year that I am really, truely, blissfully, sublimely happy. That would be Fall. The rest of the year pales in comparison.
Summer and Winter are too harsh...too unforgiving. Too much. You are very likely to get a sunburn during the Summer months. You are equally as likely to get a nasty windburn during the Winter. The brightness of Summer and Winter hurts your eyes. It's too hot. It's too cold. It's just too much of everything. I don't fully trust people whose favorite seasons are Summer or Winter...I feel like they enjoy suffering.
Spring is OK...a tad bit unpredictable, but generally well recieved in my house. I don't have any strong feelings one way or the other about Spring.
But Fall...Sweet, Sweet Fall! All year long, I feel like if I can just make it back to Fall's loving arms, everything else will be ok. I have always felt that way.
It's true that my birthday is in October, thus strengthening my passion for Fall...but I am firmly convinced that I would love the season anyway. Fall is gentle. Soft. The temperatures are soothing, not too hot, not too cold but just right. The light shimmers, it doesn't assult the eyes. Even the trees bring out their Sunday best for fall. The rain refreshes. The air is crisp, not heavy. It is the most perfect time of year!
Nothing bad has ever happened to me during the Fall.
That, of course, is a lie.
For every bad thing that has ever happened to me, I will be able to tell you the corresponding season.
1996-Winter AND Spring
2006-Spring
2009-Spring AND Summer
1987-Summer
2007-Spring
You get the idea.
But when it comes to Fall, it'll take me a few minutes to remember the bad things. In fact, bad things have happened to me in the Fall...the worst things. The most devastating things. My Dad died in the fall. And on the flip side, some of the most important things have happened in the dead of Winter...I got married in December. My amazing daughter was born in December.
Clearly, I have no rational reason for loving fall the way i do...i just do. I think everyone has their favorite time of year...and are as irrational about it as I am.
I think that's what is so awesome about human beings. We are resiliant. We know that if we can just hang in there until a certain time or event...everything will be better. That's not true of course, but we need hope to drive us forward. Hope that things will be better.
I always get depressed at the end of summer. I don't know why.
If I can just hang on til September...everything will be ok.

I'm Sad...

The bitch of depression is that it creeps up on you! It comes on so slowly that by the time you realize that something is wrong, you are firmly in its strangle hold.
It retrospect, I guess I should have seen the signs...they were all there. I wake up tired, I go to bed and I can't sleep. Looking in the mirror is a nightmare, but I can't seem to force myself to do the things that make me feel better about that image. I bathe constantly. I eat too much. I drink too much...the list goes on and on.
I thought I was suffering in silence. I was wrong. This morning, my husband very gently informed me that he missed snuggling with me. I guess I've been isolating as well. I suck at suffering!
So...what do I do about this? I cannot, for the life of me, figure out what's been going on. What lead me to the downward spiral this time? That's the other crappy thing about being depressed...sometimes there is no reason. It just happens.
I guess that's a lie. I DO know what's been bothering me. Events long since passed are finally having their impact on me emotionally. Like the shock of it all is finally starting to dissapate and the reality is sinking in. Do I address those issues here? I've always hated it when people air their dirty laundry in a public way, it seems tacky. But obviously bottling it up is doing me no good either. So I guess I'll spill it, because talking helps.

Confessions of a Scale Addict

My entire day lives or dies on what my scale tells me. Sound familiar? I think this is true for most women, so Im pretty sure I'm not the first person to utter these words.
Almost 4 years ago, I stepped on the scale for the first time in months. Maybe years..And surprise surprise, I realized I needed to lose at least 40 pounds! I mean I had suspected for a long time, but the scale removed all doubt or denial. Damn scale!
I felt hopeless! Should I try to lose it or should I go in the other direction? You know what I mean...because we've all been there...losing weight is hard and not much fun...gaining weight is easy and can be a lot of fun. I decided to lose it...and that's when my very unhealthy, co-dependant relationship with the scale began.
Sometime, in those first few months of "The Diet", I read that people who weigh themselves often have a better chance of keeping the weight off...I think it was Reader's Digest who planted this dark little seed. I'm pretty sure they meant that you should weigh yourself every few days...ever the girl of extremes, Alese has to take it one step farther! Of course, because you know, I just wouldn't be me if I didn't go completely overboard. I decided to "weigh in" Every. Single. Day.
OK...maybe a little excessive but not certifiable insanity yet. Things went well. For years. I lost the 40 pounds. I even lost 50. It felt sooooo good. The same way Heroine feels good. I began "chasing the dragon". It's a drug term. Simply put it means that nothing compares to, nothing feels as good as, that first high and so you are constantly chasing after it. That's how addicts are born. To the best of my knowledge, I've never done Heroine...but I have done Scale. As in, "Hi. My name is Alese and I'm a Scale addict."
Soon, weighing in once a day wasn't enough. If once was good, twice was even better. Once after I first went to the bathroom, and then again a few hours later after I had sweated on the Tread climber for an hour and gone to the bathroom again. 2 pounds difference at least! Awesome!
Then the numbers on the scale began to be low enough that I couldn't believe they were right. I mean they couldn't possibly be right. Convinced that the batteries were dying, I got new batteries. Same low numbers. No Effing way! That's when I began to drag my family members into my addiction. I'd grab a cat and step on the scale. Low numbers turned into high numbers because my cats are lazy and fat! Put the cat down and step on the scale...low numbers again. what a relief! But wait! There's more! I would repeat this process 4 or 5 times! What is wrong with me?
Maybe a certain amount of denial. I didn't think I would ever be thin again and when I finally was I didn't believe it. Because when I look in the mirror I see a monster. A side effect of having once been not just overweight, but morbidly obese (that's a different blog entirely, maybe some day I'll get to it).
I've been chasing the dragon for a year and a half now. It's becoming detrimental to my emotional health! I gained some weight after Christmas...everyone does it. I nearly had an emotional breakdown. watching those numbers bounce up and down panicked me!! It still panics me...because the weight is still not gone.
In my typical all or nothing approach to life I tried starving them off...no good. Starving is just not conducive to weight loss. I tried eating healthlfully and sensibly...no good. I ended up over eating (over eating isn't conducive to weight loss). I just can't seem to find my groove (Beware the Groove!) and I'm freaking out! If I can't find my groove does that mean I'll get really fat again? I lose sleep trying to answer this question (lack of sleep isn't conducive to weight loss btw).
Everyone tells me that I should be focusing on how my clothes fit and how I feel physically. I've tried that, my size stays the same despite the weight gain. That's good. Right? Yes, but not good enough, because in the back of my mind I hear the scale. It cheers me on. It taunts me. I just can't let go. I've tried hiding it...but i KNOW where I've hidden it and it doesn't stay hidden for more than a day and then I'm back at it.
In the scales defense (I'm defending the thing that makes me feel bad about myself, that's just how co-dependant we are!), it doesn't matter what it tells me anymore. If it shows me a lower number I start to worry about the next days weigh in, thinking about all of the ways I slipped up. If it shows me a high number, I'm inconsolable for the rest of the day. Damned if it does...damned if it doesn't.
So...very long story, short, I tried to break my addiction this last week. I weighed myself on Saturday, Monday and Wednesday...thinking that if I wasn't so stressed about what the scale said I could focus on eating healthfully and exercising. I gained 3 pounds :( WTF scale!
The point of all my rambling is that, rationally I know i am more than a number on the scale. I have an amazing life, why isn't that enough? Why do I feel like the only way I'll be a worthwhile person is if I'm skinny and cute? These are the questions I am examining right now...I'll keep you posted.
I guess the one good thing is that every day I start over...I never give up! "Hi. My name is Alese and I'm a scale addict."